


A Drink, or Two, Or Four, or More

by Tish



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drinking & Talking, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 05:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13734540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: One night. Two men, 2 glasses, and 1 large carafe of wine. Hic!





	A Drink, or Two, Or Four, or More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GriegPlants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GriegPlants/gifts).



Tyrion turned the carafe of wine slightly so it caught the flickering candlelight, sending a warm red glow across his face. “You know, I may very well be quite, quite drunk.”

“Is that supposed to be new information?” Varys poured himself another glass, aiming a pointed look at the utterly soused man lounging opposite him.

“Nothing escapes you, Varys,” Tyrion raised his glass and winked at him. “I toast you and your eye for detail.”

“I toast you and your hollow legs, small as they are, they hold as much alcohol as would kill a bull,” Varys clinked his glass against Tyrion's, spilling a drop or two.

“How many throughout history have sat together like us, two men spreading bull's shit far and wide, constructing tales so tall that clouds gather at their tops?” Tyrion pointed towards the ceiling where he imagined one such tale stood far above them.

“How many? If I were to place a single grain seed on a chess tile, then two upon the next, then double it for every tile on that board,” Varys mimed his actions as he spoke, pausing for a moment. “I seem to have lost my way in this metaphor.”

“Best have another drink to chase it back,” Tyrion nodded towards the rapidly sinking level of the wine. 

“It might chase the contents of my stomach back up,” cautioned Varys as he rubbed his eyes.

“Well, it might make room for some more wine and a solid fried breakfast,” Tyrion turned towards the window where a deep red wine colour was starting to spill across the slowly lightening sky.

Varys yawned as he squinted outside. “Almost the dawn? Where do the hours go?”

“They liquify, are poured into fine glassware, then find refuge in our stomachs,” Tyrion said as he held his almost empty glass aloft.

“Later escaping our bodies in a gushing torrent,” Varys groaned as he stood up. “Or sooner, in my case.”

Tyrion watched Varys take his leave, then tipped the carafe into his glass, waiting for the last drops to splash into the velvety red. “And as ever, philosophy turns to bullshit and piss,” he announced to the empty room before promptly falling asleep in his chair.


End file.
